Dear John, Rodney's POV
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: The aftermath of rape is not an easy road. While Rodney struggles to recover physically from being shot during the kidnapping of John, he then has to find the strength to support John as he recovers from what Kolya did to him. Serious adult issues, it i


Title: Dear John, Rodney's POV: Things that suck in Rodney McKay's little worldAuthor: Kodiakbear  
Pairing: John/Rodney ** this is slash**  
Rating: MA  
Warnings: Rape mention, serious issues  
Summary: Rodney's POV of the events in Dear John.

AN: This is a request fic for my evil twin that wanted to see this dynamic and what would happen in the aftermath. This is a companion piece that eclipsed the first part. Dear John holds the graphic violence and details and **is archived elsewhere**. This piece **does not** have the graphic details and is much more about the mental damage afterwards, and also about Rodney and John. It's about one character finding the depths of what he can for his friend, and the other, about coming back from a damaged state. If you asked me to go through my stories and pick out my best work, this is the one I would choose. There are stories that leave you changed at the end of writing them, and they are rare, but this one did that to me. When it was finished, I knew it would always have a special place because it was the first time I'd ever delved so deep into the actual characters and really found them. I've debated on posting both stories here, or just the one, and ultimately decided to post the one, because it stands on its own. Thanks to Linzi for beta help, and Shelly for not only requesting a story that pushed me to my limits and beyond as a writer, but for always being there and making me grow and improve.

**Dear John, Rodney's POV:**

**Things that suck in Rodney McKay's little world, or also known as Wrecked**

**Part One…**

Rodney McKay didn't have unusual requests, no scratch that, he did have unusual requests. Working in another galaxy, while the majority of his home planet continued to believe that little green men were abducting people in secret collusion with the government, classified as unusual – what he didn't have, were impossible requests.

One, that people, and monsters, and other things, would quit stunning him. Before leaving Earth, he'd never been stunned. He was surprised to find just how much being stunned sucked. Which led him to the next item on his list of things that sucked in Rodney McKay's little world, and that was being shot.

Bullets weren't complicated. The physics were basic mechanics. Once the projectile left the weapon, it was in free fall, and there were four simple equations that could lead you to whatever answer about that bullet that you needed, except maybe stupid things, like who made it, and why they wanted to shoot him with it.

In this case, Rodney knew who wanted to shoot him, and he even suspected why. The Genii…and more specifically, Kolya. And he wanted Sheppard, not Rodney this time, therefore, he got shot and left for dead – well, not quite, but close enough, while they skipped happily off to their little world, or hide-out, or whatever, because the Genii were denying any culpability over Kolya's actions, and any knowledge.

The whole situation had collapsed faster than he'd imagined possible. One moment he was scouting ahead with the nice little Ancient machine that detected power readings, and then John was shouting at him to get down. Stupid isn't an adjective he'd ever ascribed to himself, but stupid was what he'd done next. Instead of dropping automatically, and God was John going to rip his ass for it when they got him back (and it was when, not if), but he'd turned to see what was causing Sheppard to shout.

He'd barely had time to recognize the unnatural metal amidst the green, before he'd felt himself flung backwards and around from the impact. Not a dramatic amount, but the torque from the bullet's trajectory, and the angle at which it hit his side, was just enough to spin him to where he'd caught one last look at Sheppard before things ceased in his memory.

The next events he didn't remember, but when he'd woken in the infirmary, sick from the anesthetic, Carson had tried to calm him. He wasn't capable of talking, or complaining, but he managed to croak John's name.

Kolya had dialed Atlantis and sent an audio message for them to retrieve McKay, or he'd die. Then, Kolya had said he was keeping Sheppard in temporary custody, but eventually he'd be returned, though he couldn't promise he'd be in original condition.

The original condition was Rodney's own ad-lib during Carson's explanation. Judging from the long worried face, Rodney imagined some of the things Kolya had said weren't so clinically pristine.

The first few days, he was in and out of it. Carson had given in to his pleading demands for drugs, good drugs, and none of that wimpy stuff for when he'd had a splinter or anything else relatively minor, because a bullet wound to the abdomen wasn't Tylenol worthy. It was morphine worthy, and a lot of it.

When he'd surfaced from the latest dose of the happy drugs, he'd found John in a bed beside him. Sheppard looked like he'd gone one round too many with something big and mean. His face was mottled with bruises, scabbed lip, eye swollen shut. Beckett had a sheet draped over his body, but Rodney could see the other things. The raw wrists where he'd struggled.

It wasn't an easy thing to look at a friend…more than a friend…in that kind of condition. And he wasn't used to feeling like this. Rodney and caring - put them together and it was like trying to blend two elements; one polar and the other non-polar. It wasn't his natural state, he resisted, loudly.

He heard Elizabeth and Carson's voices coming from off to the side, the secondary entrance into the infirmary, and quickly shut his eyes. He wanted to hear what they had to say, and knew if they thought he was asleep, they'd talk freer. He had to know what he was up against with Sheppard.

Call him a sneaky bastard…and you'd be right. He'd never said he lived his life by any concrete moral code. He preferred to live life with a fluid base.

"_How bad, Carson?"_

"_It's bad. He was raped, multiple times. Beaten. There are traces of a drug we can't identify, but guessing at its structure, we believe it was some sort of paralytic agent."_

"_Oh, God."_

He heard Elizabeth falter, and felt like he wouldn't mind joining her, but he couldn't because he was supposed to be sleeping. Raped. That bastard had raped John. The incongruity with equating the two words in one sentence made him almost believe he was imagining this.

Sheppard was all smirk and bravado. He was fire to Rodney's furnace, and they burned off each other. He'd never imagined seeing John in a position where he hadn't (or wouldn't) come out on top, and he didn't want to. It might be the proverbial sticking your head in the sand, but one thing he'd never claimed to be, was a hero.

"_Aye, I'm afraid he won't have an easy time of it, Elizabeth. In fact, my advice is to get Kate involved from the beginning and confront this head on. If I know him, he'll try to pull back from what happened, and not face it until it's too late."_

"_I'll talk to her. We won't let him, Carson. I won't lose John to some sadistic maniac's delusion of justice or revenge, whatever this was supposed to be. I won't."_

"_I rather thought you wouldn't, Love. I do have good news, Rodney's condition is improving."_

"_That is good news. How long before -"_

"_Before he's awake and realizes Sheppard is back, or how long till he can be discharged?"_

"_Both."_

When Rodney was a boy, his teachers had alternated between irritation and adoration, depending on their level of ability to deal with a kid who usually had the assignment done before they'd finished giving the instructions. He'd also been told repeatedly, that he had a good imagination. Of course, that was often a declaration after he'd insisted he could build or fix something sufficiently complicated as to stump the adults at hand.

Right now, he could see the expressions on Carson's face, and Elizabeth's. He imagined exactly how they were probably standing, and he didn't need to have his eyes open to see it.

Elizabeth was undoubtedly frowning, considering the seriousness of the situation. Most likely leaning against the wall, or standing with her arms folded. Beckett was probably hunched near her, hands stuffed in his pockets, and considering both Rodney and John with a worried face. He almost felt bad for the ulcer Rodney was certain the doctor was growing. It'd been a rough year.

"_Are you going to tell him?"_

"_I don't see as how there's much choice. You and I both know they're closer than they act in public, and this isn't something to let Rodney blunder through and John hide from."_

"_Carson, don't you think that Rodney can be a bit…abrasive, maybe you should -"_

"_That's exactly what I'm counting on. If anyone can make Sheppard face what he has went through, it'll be Rodney. He's relentless, Elizabeth, why that one time he came here with a hangnail…"_

The voices drifted away, and he couldn't keep up any longer with what they were saying, but that miserable Scottish son-of-a bitch. That hangnail had hurt! All puffy, red, swollen and throbbing. It wasn't like he'd ran off to the doctor the second it started bothering him. After all, he had waited until the agony grew to unbearable levels. That had been one of the longest days ever until he'd broken down and sought help.

Maybe the 'cut it off' comments had been melodramatic, still…

Sheppard's groans interrupted his mental monologue, and he popped his eyes open, moving enough to watch as John shifted restlessly in bed. A couple of times Sheppard's eyelids almost flickered open, but they didn't quite make it, and after about five minutes, no more than ten, a nurse arrived and saw John's condition and went for Carson.

As much as he wanted Sheppard to wake up, he didn't. He wasn't used to thinking of others, and now wasn't any different. Rodney didn't feel strong enough to look in John's eyes, and have Sheppard know that he knew what'd happened. Rodney needed time to try and figure out the right things to say, fuck, who was he kidding? It would probably be a shorter list if he focused on the things he shouldn't say.

Carson came swishing in, his lab coat waving behind as he hurried to John's side. Rodney didn't feign sleep, instead watching as Beckett lifted one of Sheppard's eyelids, than the other, before taking John's pulse and asking the nurse to get a temperature and blood pressure while he was restless, and then give him another dose of morphine.

When he was finished with John, he turned, and locked eyes with Rodney. He walked over and pushed his hands in the lab coat pockets. "You overheard," he observed. "Didn't your mum ever teach you it's impolite to eavesdrop?"

Rodney rolled his eyes to show his disgust, because it wasn't like he could do much else with the big hole in his side. "I didn't have a 'mum', I had a 'mother', and yes, she did. If I'd listened to everything she'd said, I'd probably be a baker in Vancouver, catering to TV sets and wishing for the big life."

"A baker?" repeated Carson. He shook his head. "Some day, when things have settled down, you'll need to tell me the story behind that one, but in the mean time, it's probably just as well. He's going to need you, Rodney, and he won't admit it."

"I think I can handle a little social support," cracked McKay.

"A little?" worried Beckett.

That was another one of the things that sucked in Rodney McKay's little world. When the little humans all around tried to foist emotion on him. He got it. He didn't need to wear it. "I'll be there, Carson, do I really need to spell it out in simplistic form?"

The thundercloud that Beckett wore every time he was irritated with McKay showed up. "You're such an ass," he swore. "I don't know how the lad stands you. But fine, you get it. Now, ready for some walking? It's time for you to start getting some exercise and get out of that bed."

"Carson, I was shot!" Rodney exclaimed. "I'm not walking. And I'm actually a little hungry so if you can have that medical assistant person bring me some lunch -"

"Rodney, you just said you'd be there for Sheppard."

Was Carson brain damaged, and Rodney had just never noticed before? "And I will," he enunciated slowly.

"He won't come to you," replied Beckett, equally slow and easy, for the dumb and stupid.

Rodney's mouth curled into an 'oh', before his face crumpled into petulant annoyance. "One time, just once, I'd like to be mortally wounded and not have to rush out of bed before I'm completely healed to save everyone else." He stared at the white bandage, and pointed down at it, "I have a HOLE in my side, Carson. I don't want to walk. I don't even want you to stop giving me those nice drugs that make everything feel much better."

"I'll make a deal with you. You walk, and you'll get the drugs after."

Seemingly mollified, Rodney bobbed his head enough to confirm he'd go along with it. "But right after, none of this stalling an hour to build up the tolerance, because it's as high as I ever want it to be."

The rest of the day wasn't any different. He did the walk, and bitched the whole way through, because it hurt. Regardless of the diplomas hanging on the wall, Rodney didn't see anything constructive in walking when you've got serious internal damage.

The nice happy drugs did take him into a mostly pain free slumber, and when he woke up next, it was the middle of the night. McKay looked over to see John still sleeping but rolled onto his side, now facing Rodney. John's face looked troubled even in his drugged sleep, and it made an uneasiness rise up down deep in Rodney's gut.

The panicked thought that this was something he wasn't capable of helping John deal with took over his mind. He wasn't good at this stuff. His idea of sympathy was 'I'm sorry, now move'. Seriously. He'd spent his whole life living by the motto of 'get over it, move along'. Life was too short to waste time malingering over the little stuff, and there was a lot of little stuff.

Didn't mean he was averse to a little complaining when the going got rough. But this dig inward and address your feelings…it wasn't something he enjoyed, believed in, or wanted to do. Tact was for those unable to handle reality. Looking at Sheppard's vulnerability right now made him rethink his beliefs. Suddenly tact seemed entirely too tempting.

His mind unsettled, Rodney fell back asleep and didn't wake up till he heard the low murmur of voices nearby. He blinked away the disorientation from the change from a sleeping to a waking state, and looked over towards the voices. Sheppard was in a conversation with Carson, and neither one looked happy.

When he realized that Rodney was staring at him, his face grew even more haggard. "You're alive."

"Yes, it's remarkable, really, the abuse a body can take," he said.

John's mouth twisted up. "Subtlety is an art that bypassed your gene pool."

"My gene pool is just fine," retorted McKay. "I'm just saying – the body is remarkably resilient. If you're reading more between the lines, well, stop it."

The frown that replaced the pitiful smirk, not even a quarter of its usual intensity, confused McKay. He didn't stay confused for long. John held up a journal. "You knew about this idea, didn't you?" he accused, and now the expressive face had jumped into anger. "I can't believe anyone would possibly think that writing down how pissed I am over what…he…did," the stumble seemed to surprise John, but he recovered and finished just as angry as when he'd started, "then they're crazier than everyone seems to think I am."

Carson sighed, and if Rodney had to guess, this had been a source of previous discussion. God, how much of the good stuff had they given him last night?

"No one thinks you're crazy, Colonel," Beckett said, trying to placate Sheppard.

Rodney raised his hand.

Together, John and Carson speared him with withering glares. He shrugged, and dropped his hand. "I didn't mean I thought he was crazy, Jesus, everyone's so defensive this morning. I was trying to interrupt. Politely. For a change." He paused to get his point across before adding, "Something I won't do again."

"What were you going to say, Rodney?" Carson asked wearily.

"Merely that I'd read an article about the therapeutic properties of writing in a journal, and that you didn't have to be crazy to do it. In fact, the studies showed remarkable drops in depression in the individuals who wrote in a journal once a week."

"So, this was your idea," John said, convinced. He dropped the book on a portable tray table that was perched to his right, wincing with the pain the movement caused. "Did you know Elizabeth said I either fall in line with this or I get a one-way ticket home?"

Rodney guessed that's what the 'not letting John hide' conversation had been about. "So, write in it. Unless you're that much of a quitter," he taunted. He knew it'd worked when John's jaw muscles practically quivered underneath the multi-colored flesh.

John glared at Carson, before the doctor took the hint, and backed away, allowing them some privacy. Once Beckett was out of hearing range, John fixed Rodney with a look so stripped down to primal emotions that Rodney almost physically recoiled. "I don't need to write down what k…he…did to me. I'm not going to forget any time soon. And I'd really like to know where my doctor got off on telling the entire expedition what happened. Isn't there something called doctor-patient confidentiality?"

The stumble over Kolya's name was one John didn't even pause to acknowledge, but Rodney had caught it. That was twice he'd meant to say the Genii soldier's name, and hadn't.

"They're worried about you, God knows why." Rodney could glare back. He won first prize in the 'glare-a-thon' in fifth grade. He'd cowed even teachers. "Did you ever think they're doing this because they care?"

"They can care without broadcasting to everyone that I've been…"

Rodney watched as John just stopped. He froze, and looked away, and Rodney knew he wasn't going to admit it. To say the word out loud. No one ever wanted to. "Raped, John," he said forcefully. "You were raped. R A P E D, in the Webster dictionary it says –"

John's eyes slid back to him, and the face was tortured. "I know what it means," he replied stonily, before rolling away from Rodney, and yanking his blanket up over his head.

Closing his eyes in frustration, Rodney murmured, "Of course you do." Well. That could've gone better.

OoO

The day went downhill from there. While Rodney was put through his physical therapy, John refused to engage at all with anyone. Kate had dropped by and asked if he'd managed to write an entry yet, and he'd told her he wasn't aware of any specific time limit on when he'd had to start. The coldness would've frozen hell, but she smiled kindly, and told John he needed to get the first one in before the day was over.

Rodney didn't think he was imagining the fact that John seemed to be getting more pissed the more people kept asking him how he felt, if he needed anything, and would he like to talk, or maybe have something brought to him to pass the time. He saw the man slowly growing more biting in his replies, and finally after the nurse said he was finished, Rodney tottered over to John's side, pressing a hand against the bandage because damn if it wasn't burning after that exercise.

He lifted the journal, and turned it over in his hands, before holding it out to John. "Write. Get it done. I've invested too much time in training you only to have you punted back to Earth because you couldn't follow directions." Rodney waited for John to take the journal.

"She wouldn't," derided John. He was propped up now, flipping through some magazine about black holes and Steven Hawking.

Rodney yanked the magazine from him, frowning. "What are you reading?"

"Physics Journal, I'm sure you're familiar with it."

Peering for a moment around the page, Rodney huffed with annoyance, "Yes, I'm aware of that, but what are you doing with this? You like math, fine, but reading about black holes is creepy. That's my space. I don't read Soldier of Fortune."

"I don't either," John retorted. "I thought I'd read up on something…physical…to have common ground."

"It's scientific, not 'physical', and you're just doing this to avoid talking about the," Rodney stopped and raised his hands in the air, forming quote marks, "rape."

John's face paled, which made the harsh colors from his injuries stick out all the more. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yes, well…" neither could Rodney. And to think, he'd really meant to try out tact. "Look, someone had to. Carson will pussyfoot around using words like 'injuries' and 'trauma'. Elizabeth will coat it diplomatically as sympathetic drivel. Reality, John, give it a shot." And he stormed away before he could see the hurt reflected from Sheppard's eyes.

He pretended he didn't see John lift the journal from where he'd finally tossed it on the bed. And he didn't see John lift the pen from the table, and start to write…

**OoO**

"This is what you put?" Rodney asked in disbelief. He read over the scant few lines on the page. "No wonder Kate left looking like she'd sucked a lemon after your session."

John snatched the journal from Rodney and shut it with a _thwamp_. "For the record, I told her I'd continue, but from here on out, it's private. And in case you didn't know, the Webster dictionary defines private as intended for, or restricted to the use of a particular person, group, or class. That would be me."

The wall John was erecting was a big one, and Rodney wished he had a bulldozer on hand. There were a lot of forks in the road to take, and Rodney debated on the right one. The old adage of the path less taken came to mind, but this wasn't poetry, it was John's life. Rodney had about a hundred rude replies; sarcastic, and defensive, because there was a part of him that was hurt at being locked out of John's world. They'd had good sex, great even, over half of the time, which was pretty damn good statistics. To admit John's shutting him out hurt, was to admit he cared, and he didn't even know if he could do that.

Seeing how he didn't know how to be nice, and accusing John of anything less than trying would be too far, even for him, he just turned and hobbled back to his bed.

John looked at him, momentarily surprised, but then his face cleared back to the one that Rodney was beginning to hate. It reminded him of victims that escape war zones. They arrive at the refugee camps with empty eyes, as if they aren't sure what's just happened, and can't even begin to deal with the aftermath. John looked empty. His eyes…

God damn Kolya, Rodney swore to himself. Rodney knew he was a selfish bastard, in his own right, but the fear he was feeling now was something he didn't know how to handle. John needed to recover, he had to, because Rodney didn't want to walk out that gate with some other moronic grunt without a brain telling him what to do. He didn't want to go to bed at night without that hot body radiating against his skin.

Everything he'd dreamed of having, he had now. A job, that while sucking in the 'facing death too fucking often' category, offered everything else. Unbelievable scientific advances and discoveries, opportunities. Discovering that John Sheppard had a brain, and even used it, was a bonus. And then discovering that Sheppard was good in bed, that'd been like winning the lottery twice in a row. Everything had been rolled into a neat little slice of perfection, and he'd grabbed it greedily.

And he'd be damned if Kolya was going to take even part of it from him, because this…all of this…the thought of being here now without Sheppard…depressed wasn't the right word. Bereft, afraid – and probably more negative emotions than he could pin down. It just wouldn't be right.

Rodney spent a lot of time the rest of the day watching John. Carson hovered, Kate came back at least two more times, and those were the times that John almost came undone. Whatever she was saying, she was hitting buttons. Rodney did more walking and leg lifts, and all that horrible pain filled therapy they wanted him to do. He napped, and dreamed of Kolya shooting John, and then laughing in Rodney's face, telling him he'd never have Sheppard again. When he woke up sweating from a bad one, he found Sheppard watching him.

At some point towards the end of the day, Carson had John get up and start moving around. Even though he'd only been in Kolya's hands for four days, he seemed frail in his sweat pants and t-shirt. Rodney watched as he walked by with Carson near in case he needed help.

John must've gotten dizzy, because he wavered, and when Carson tried to help him, John yanked back, and shook his head. Rodney wanted to go to him, but Sheppard's face was broadcasting everyone to just back the hell off. John stumbled unsteadily back to his bed and dropped on it. His eyes drifted back to Rodney and for the first time, McKay wished John would just quit staring at him, because every time those empty eyes met his, Rodney felt for sure, he'd lost John.

Later, when John had fallen asleep, Rodney stared. The nurses were down to the minimum night shift level. Right now, there weren't any near their beds, so he allowed himself to indulge in something he hadn't gotten to do since before that morning when they'd left on what was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Ronon and Teyla had been on a separate mission working on securing trade goods with a touchy native people.

Sentimentalist wasn't something he thought of himself as, but Rodney felt his heart squeeze at the fragility of John's face. Even in sleep, he had an air of flawed glass. It was stupid. His own insecurities and fear being passed on to Sheppard, because he was still Sheppard. No. That wasn't right. He wouldn't ever be the same Sheppard. He'd been hurt in a way that cut down to the soul of a person and even Rodney could see that.

"You should be sleeping, Rodney."

McKay shook his head. "Carson, I was wrong. I can't do this."

The tired doctor dropped into the chair near Rodney's bed, scrubbing his hand over his face. Rodney was surprised to notice the bags, and red eyes. "Yes, you can," he asserted softly. "You've got to."

"No, you don't understand." Rodney tried not to panic. "I'm screwing up. I confronted him too soon, pushed too hard. He needs someone like Teyla. I can't do empathy, never been able to." His eyes were roving back and forth from John's sleeping figure, to Carson's exhausted one. "Seriously, I had a friend in graduate school, dying from cancer, and I asked him if I could keep his Rocky and Bullwinkle collection."

Beckett leaned back further, and tucked his hands in those same pockets, and Rodney could see from the crinkling around his eyes that he found it funny. "It's not funny, I did! God, I was such an ass."

"What did he say?"

"Well, that's beside the point," Rodney protested.

"Rodney…"

"Fine, fine – he said yes." He paused in the memory, knowing he was leaving out the point that Carson was trying to make. Rodney sighed, and reluctantly added, "And he also said I was the only one able to face reality." But Rodney knew that sometimes facing reality wasn't all it was cracked up to be. His friend had died three weeks later.

"Exactly," Carson stressed. "That's why you can't quit. John needs that kind of a friend right now, and you'll excuse me for saying, that kind of love."

Rodney's face reacted instantly to the love. Part disdain, part panic. "You know," he accused. But of course he already knew that Carson knew, it was just no one had confronted him with it before.

"Aye, I do, and while I won't say it's not risky, I also know all too well that life is short, especially here in the Pegasus galaxy."

They both had unpleasant memories brought to the surface by that thought.

"What if I handle it wrong, and screw him up more?" Rodney voiced his fears, which in itself was a small miracle, because in everything else, Rodney had never openly betrayed his insecurities.

"You won't," assured Carson. "I want you to initiate contact…touch him. His arm, shoulder, something little at first. He's flinching from the nurse's touch. Wouldn't let me help him when he almost passed out earlier today. He needs to learn to accept being touched again."

The description of a skittish colt was probably apt for Sheppard. Rodney had seen him flinching at touch, had watched and saw what Carson was telling him. But the last thing he wanted to do was force himself on John in that way after what he'd been through with Kolya.

"I can't," he whined. "Carson, do you know what you're asking? I don't want him to look at me like that…" Like someone who was hurting him. God. That was the root of Rodney's problem. He didn't want to keep inflicting that pain on John. And if he pushed Sheppard the whole way, he'd be the one causing John to hurt the most. He didn't want to be that person.

Rodney had been accused of being selfish, callous, biting, sarcastic, overbearing…but he'd never gone out of his way to intentionally cause someone pain. It didn't matter that he'd be forcing the pain to ultimately get Sheppard to heal from this. He'd still be the branding iron causing the burn.

He watched as Carson's shoulders slumped. "If you won't do it, I don't know who can."

Beckett didn't say anything further, instead, he climbed tiredly from the chair, and left Rodney to his thoughts. A place, Rodney suddenly didn't want to be. Conundrums sucked, and he would add that one to his growing list. This situation brought new meaning to the saying 'you only hurt the ones you love'.

"I hate this," he whispered to himself. And he kept staring at John long into the early hours of the next day.

OoO

Rodney had fallen asleep sometime after four in the morning, and for once was too tired for the dreams to haunt. Something was dragging him out of a dead sleep, and it took a few moments for his mind to process it was voices, loud voices and getting louder.

"John, we can't help you, if you're not willing to help yourself."

Rodney knew that was Kate. She must have arrived early for another session. When John was stronger, the sessions would take place in her office, but for now the doctor had to come to the patient, and Elizabeth and Carson didn't want to wait and give time for John to retreat.

"I am helping myself!" John shouted. "I'm writing in that damn book like you want. I'm letting everyone tell me what to do. I'm eating and drinking, and God damn it, I'm talking to YOU right now. I think that qualifies as helping myself!"

"But you won't talk about the actual events," she replied, and her voice was lower, quieter, calmer.

That wasn't going to go over well. Rodney knew John enough to expect the coming explosion, and he wasn't shocked when it came. He opened his eyes just in time to see John angrily shove his breakfast tray to the floor, frustration radiating from him. "You don't get it," snarled John. "I don't NEED to tell you what he did to get over it. What I need is for everyone to leave me the hell alone!"

Kate didn't even seem startled by the outburst. She nodded at a nurse to come and clean it up, and got to her feet. She picked the journal off the floor from where it'd been pushed off when he'd thrown the tray. Handing it to him she said, "Don't forget to write today. I'll be back later."

John had deflated from the fury, and took it, but his stance made it clear he was still pissed. He took the journal grudgingly, and when Kate was out the doors, he looked over, and caught Rodney watching.

"I'm surprised," quipped McKay. "French toast is your favorite."

The look that washed over John's face, down to the curling of the lips, almost felt like normal, as John said, "It was cold."

After that, Sheppard retreated, and Rodney watched. The staff did their staff things, and annoyed both him and John. Blood pressure, temperature, bandage checks and changes, and 'get up and walk'. He could imagine how raw John felt, if the pestering was grating on his nerves, and it was.

Carson came in the afternoon to check both their charts. John was restless, and Rodney saw the confrontation coming a mile away. A nurse wanted to draw more blood, and for some reason, this was the line in Sheppard's sand. He was refusing, and Beckett was there to force the issue.

"Colonel, we need to check your blood count. You don't want any nasty infections settling in and prolonging your stay, now do you?" he reasoned.

"I'm fine. No fever, no nothing. I don't need more blood taken."

One thing Rodney had learned, was don't tell Carson what to do when it came to his domain. Sure enough, the hackles went up. "Son, I know you're hurting inside, but you've got to let me do my job." Beckett waved at the nurse to give him the needle. As he stepped forward, John jerked back, and though it was accidental, his leg caught Carson's forearm when it'd came back up from the kick back motion he'd used to propel his body away.

The needle caught Beckett in the face. There was a bit of chaos, and Rodney felt sick watching it unfold. Nurses went to Beckett, and the needle was withdrawn from his cheek, thankfully it'd missed his eye. The puncture site dripped blood, but someone handed Carson a gauze pad to press against the wound.

Beckett waved them away, and turned to Sheppard. "Why don't we let you get lunch in the mess hall today, Colonel? I think we can both use a break," ruefully, he held the needle aloft. "But when you get back, you will allow us to do our job, is that clear?"

Judging from the expression on John's face, Rodney could tell John didn't know whether to apologize or tell Beckett he'd deserved it. In the end, Sheppard settled for a sharp jerk of his head, and got up. He looked over at Rodney and said, "Lunch?"

McKay had been allowed to walk the halls as part of his therapy, and Carson had mentioned something about being discharged tomorrow. He looked over at Beckett for permission, but truthfully, even if Carson had said no, he was going to go. John had actually reached out to someone, and he wasn't going to disappoint.

But, it was a moot issue, because Carson nodded, and even seemed pleased. He also pierced Rodney with a look that made him remember the conversation they'd had last night. He turned away, and gingerly reached for his socks that were on the chair. His bandage was half the size it used to be, but the wound had been large enough that healing was taking a while. It still hurt if he accidentally grazed it with his arm, or anything else.

The walk to the mess hall was silent. John didn't want to talk, and for once, Rodney didn't know what to say. He took the tray that Sheppard handed him, and they went through the line, both acutely aware of the eyes following them from the seated crowd.

As they picked a table and sat, John said, "We should've waited till the lunch crowd died down."

"I'm not sure Carson wanted you to hang around," Rodney replied. "By the way, nice job with that. Maybe he'll think twice before foisting needles on his victims."

"I didn't mean to do it, and you know it." John looked unhappy as he reached for his milk, and opened the carton. He sniffed. "I never knew you could freeze milk until the Daedalus brought the first run of supplies. Weird."

"You brought me down here to talk about frozen milk?" Rodney shoveled a bite of the beef macaroni and chewed.

The carton of milk slammed against the table. "I brought you down here to share lunch, like friends do," he retorted angrily. As he noticed more stares, John looked above Rodney's head and forced a painful smile. When the guilty faces turned back to their meals, he lowered his head again, towards Rodney. "Look, just for an hour, can we pretend nothing happened, okay? One hour of normalcy. It's not that much."

"Fine," Rodney mumbled around another mouthful. "You get one hour."

John rolled his eyes. "Jesus, you always have to be so fucking precise."

"I'm a scientist."

"I need the friend more." The admission seemed to shock John, and he ducked his head and focused on his plate.

And for the 1,001th time since Rodney had woken to find John in the bed near his, he felt like he could happily murder Kolya if they ever saw each other again. They ate the rest of the meal without talking.

When they were heading back to the infirmary, Rodney tried to touch John. They were walking side by side, with Rodney slightly behind. Sheppard was checking his stride, and walking slower to accommodate Rodney's hobbling steps, because the exertion had made his wound burn more than ever. Finally, Rodney was out of breath, and needed to stop. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to do what Carson had asked of him.

He reached for John's arm, and maybe his first mistake was the fact that he was behind John instead of in front, and Sheppard hadn't seen it coming. He touched just below the shoulder, up high, and on the side of John's right arm. It was soft, because he tried to be soothing, like those nights when they'd lain side by side after a bad mission.

The reaction was instantaneous. He pivoted to face Rodney, and shoved ruthlessly. McKay felt his back connect with the corridor wall, and pain flare in his side.

John's eyes were sparking. "Don't fucking touch me again," he growled.

"Asshole," snapped Rodney. God, his side hurt. He hunched against the wall, needing the support. His side really burned now, and reaching a hand down, he pushed against it only to feel something wet. He brought his hand up and blinked stupidly at the red stain on his fingers. His eyes met John, and he swore even as he crumpled, "Son-of-a bitch."

OoO

"_Did you mean to hurt Rodney?"_

"_Of course not, what kind of fucked up question is that? It's just…I…Christ."_

"_Take your time, John. This is important."_

"_I hate this. I hate having to talk to you, write in that stupid journal, and the fact that I'm hurting everyone who cares. I know, that's what gets me – I know that they are doing what they have to, but I hate it. I just hate everything right now, and I hate that, which makes me hate everything more. When he touched me, it felt…I thought I was back in that cell…and that he was…was…fuck, I can't even say the bastard's name, how pitiful is that?"_

Rodney tried to not betray he'd woken up, but he accidentally shifted, causing a flare of pain, and the moan that came out without his permission, caused the conversation to come to a screeching halt.

"Rodney?" John called.

He didn't want to face John right now. He knew Sheppard wasn't to blame for what happened, but right now he needed to be selfish, and deal with what was happening.

Rodney kept his eyes shut tight, and Kate must've gotten Carson, because he felt the warm hand he recognized too well touch his shoulder and whisper that it was all right. He'd merely opened the wound when he'd hit the wall. There'd been an abscess below the stitches causing the healed over skin to be friable and easily busted, and that was the cause of the intense pain that had caused him to pass out. The irony that John's actions had saved him from a potentially life-threatening complication didn't escape McKay. All this Carson said while he fiddled with Rodney's IV and added something nice and comforting to take away the pain.

He wanted to tell John it was okay, he really did, but he couldn't. Taking the easy way out, Rodney let the drugs escort him back down into a world where none of this crap existed.

OoO

When he next surfaced, Ronon and Teyla were talking quietly with John. Rodney wasn't sure what was being said, but John looked pissed, again, and Ronon was staring at Sheppard in that way that he had. It was a stare usually reserved for him, and it was kind of odd to see it used on John.

Finally, Ronon shrugged and mumbled something, and left. Teyla didn't look happy. She was talking quiet enough that Rodney couldn't overhear, but he could tell from the body language that she was frustrated. John must've said something that shut her out, because she glanced towards McKay, and when she saw he was awake, nodded a goodbye to John and came over to him.

"How do you feel, Rodney?"

"Like I've had a hole in my side bust open and spew out a pocket full of bacteria." As gross as that sounded, it pretty much nailed his physical condition.

The face she made wasn't pretty. "I see. Is there anything you need? Doctor Weir has us on a mission with Major Lorne's team this afternoon, but I can get -"

"Forget it, Carson would just take it from me," he interrupted.

She arched her eyebrow. "Then I should be going."

"You're not."

The frown was back, and she glanced over her shoulder at John, and seeing he was writing in something, looked back at Rodney. "We are…worried, about John."

"Get in line," Rodney bitched. The line was pretty damn big. It didn't help that he was pretty sure he was number one.

She didn't seem to get the reference. "Try to help him," she said softly, and there was an edge to her voice that Rodney had seldom heard. Before he could say anything back, she'd ghosted out of the infirmary. He frowned at the empty spot. He hated when she did that. Then again, he was beginning to hate everything.

**OoO**

Rodney watched John on and off during the day, as he manipulated the nurses into retrieving a computer, football games, even popcorn. Though he suspected Elizabeth was behind sneaking in the popcorn, he couldn't prove it, because that'd happened when he was out of it, again. This set-back to his injury was pissing him off. He'd been almost well enough to get discharged, and now he was reduced to the beginning, with all those post-recovery issues to endure all over again.

When John caught him staring during the football game and popcorn marathon, he saw the flash of guilt that John stamped down quickly. Rodney watched as Sheppard paused the game on the laptop, and got out of bed. In less than ten minutes, John had a bed pushed up next to Rodney's, had adjusted McKay's bed so he could watch, and set the popcorn between the two of them.

He closed the football, and inserted another disc. When it came up, Rodney recognized the Hockey play-offs from the previous year. Taking a handful of popcorn he said, "Apology accepted."

John's lips quirked upwards, and it was the closest thing to a real smile that Rodney had seen since he'd been back. "Good, because I'm not really good at groveling."

They watched long into the night, and somewhere along the way, Rodney fell asleep. When he woke up again, John was snoring in his own bed, and the other one had been moved back to where it belonged. He almost wished John had stayed where he was.

This had been the longest amount of time they'd slept apart since they'd began their secret affair, though, apparently not so secret since Carson and Elizabeth had known. He'd have to work on that stealth issue if they ever got back…fuck…when they got back to normal. John's career depended on a certain level of subterfuge. With those uncomfortable thoughts, Rodney drifted back into sleeping.

The next day, John had a set back, and developed a fever. Carson hovered more than ever, and at one time when Sheppard was surly and rude, Beckett had snapped it was time for him to get to the job of accepting what had happened. John's mouth thinned, and he stared at Carson until he threw his hands in the air, and stalked away.

The day was rough. Every time someone had to interact with John on any level, he got mad. Rodney was still stuck in bed, and couldn't go to him, and it made that conversation he'd had with Carson, the one that seemed like forever ago, about why he needed to push himself into mobility, seem particularly foreboding. Stupid damn infection, because as much as he'd wanted to run away from helping John before, now, faced with the inability to do anything, he wanted more than ever to go to John.

For some reason, even though John was still pissed, he was calmer when he and Rodney talked. The anger seemed not so strong and involving. When night came, and John's fever had spiked and retreated, Rodney thanked god for it. He couldn't help but feel angry himself. All of this seemed insurmountable in the late hours, and if he wanted to cry, just a little, he tried not to tell himself it was because he was weak. He just wanted John better…and whole.

It seemed like he'd just fallen asleep, when he was woke by shouting. He recognized it as John's, and rolled to see what was wrong, wincing as he accidentally put pressure on his again healing wound. John was thrashing in bed, the sheets twisted around him, and he was begging someone to stop.

Rodney knew John would be horrified if anyone else overheard, so sticking the palm of his hand against his stitches, he shoved himself out of bed, and tried to hurry to John's side.

"John," he whispered, reaching for his arm. "Sheppard!"

He should've remembered what happened the last time he touched John, because next thing Rodney knew, his head was reeling back from the punch. Sheppard had lurched upright, with a wild-eyed look in his eyes; the one Rodney was backing away from as he rubbed his jaw. John might be upright, but he wasn't aware of where he was.

"Don't fucking touch me, again," John threatened.

Rodney knew that just like last time, it wasn't him, Rodney McKay, that John was talking to, but Kolya.

The commotion had attracted the people that he'd hoped to avoid, but now was really thankful for. Beckett was bleary from the sleep he'd been indulging in, and tried to tell John it was okay, that he was safe in the infirmary.

When John tried to attack Carson, Beckett apparently realized talking wasn't going to work, and snapped for a nurse to get a sedative. The next few moments were harrowing for Rodney to watch, as they subdued John, forced him to the bed, and injected the drugs. As Sheppard's body turned to Jell-O, McKay finally breathed again. He felt faint from lack of oxygen, and stumbled his way back to his bed. Fuck. This was bad. Badbadbad, in so many ways, bad.

After it was over, and Carson had made sure John was settled, he turned and saw that Rodney was still watching. Beckett came over to him, and tilted his jaw up to get a good look at the growing bruise. "You'll be sore tomorrow," he said.

Rodney smacked his hand away, backing up, until the bed frame stopped him. "God, Carson," he said, his voice wavering. "I can't…I can't do this anymore. It's not working. I can't watch him fall apart like this." He knew his face was stricken, his entire self felt it. "He was the strong one, not me. I can't do it."

Beckett took Rodney's arm, and pushed him gently into the bed, and McKay obeyed automatically, too shell-shocked to resist further. He lifted Rodney's bandage away, and sighed. "At least your stitches held." Carson pulled back, and met Rodney's glazed look. "This was expected. Even hoped for."

"What?" retorted Rodney, not seeing how on earth this kind of thing was welcome. "He didn't know who I was, or where HE was. How can that possibly be a good thing?"

"Post-traumatic stress disorder, Rodney. It was bound to surface, and better for it now, than later." Carson glanced again at John, before turning back to Rodney. "Kate will be relieved to hear about it. She said he has to hit bottom before he can start climbing up, and this was the final manifestation she expected. He's following the course of recovery, trust me."

"He's going to hate having that label attached," Rodney said. He was coming down from the adrenaline surge, and even grudgingly allowing Carson's assurances to penetrate his closed mind.

"Most likely," admitted Beckett. "But I think he's a smart enough lad to know what's happening to him, even if he doesn't want to face it."

For one of the few times in his life, Rodney didn't have any biting comment, acerbic saying, or even anything to add. The thought of how horrifying for Sheppard to know what was going on, even while not being able to stop it, both during the time in Kolya's hands, and now, was unsettling. One thing he'd always known about Sheppard, from the beginning, was that the man didn't like to be out of control, ever.

Breathing deep, Carson patted Rodney's shoulder. "Get some sleep. It'll probably be a long day tomorrow, and seeing how you were able to wrestle with Sheppard tonight, you can start walking more tomorrow."

"See, that's why I don't help more often. People take advantage," McKay grouched. He hated the thought of the therapy exercises again. They made his muscles shake in unpleasant ways.

Beckett chuckled quietly, but left him alone to sleep. The only problem was sleep was elusive. Rodney had a restless night, and woke up out-of-sorts. He snapped at the nurse to quit trying to use the blood pressure cuff as a tourniquet, and did he LOOK like he had a fever, when she jabbed the thermometer into his ear. She smiled pleasantly, which just pissed him off more. He smiled sarcastically back, and she left him to stew.

John had woken groggy, and Rodney watched as his mind caught up, and the memories from last night replayed across his face. In record time, John shoved it away, and picked up the journal, staring at it.

That was when Kate walked in. She was smiling pleasantly, and even Rodney thought he'd like to wipe it off her face. Instead of hanging around listening, McKay got up, carefully, and headed to the bathroom. He felt John's eyes on him the whole way there. He shut the door, and looked in the mirror. His jaw was a deep red and purple. Nice. As if he didn't already have issues, now he would have to go around for at least a week with a bad painter's palette on his face. Irritably, he washed, and took care of his other needs, before leaving.

He walked out just in time to see John throw the journal at Kate. Unaccountably, he felt a surge of anger. Storming over, he bent down and picked it up, biting his lip when it caused his wound to bitch…loudly, which only served to fuel his pissiness. Kate was staring at him, wondering what he was going to do, but he took the few steps back to John's side. He knew if Sheppard had really meant to hit her with it, he wouldn't have missed.

"You need to practice your curve balls," he said, slamming the journal against John's chest. "Your aim is crap."

"You volunteering to be a practice target?" John sniped.

Rodney stared for a beat before he turned abruptly, and headed back to his bed. Rodney just felt so…incredibly pissed. At the world. At John. At Kolya. Screw it all, because this sucked. And damn it if he wouldn't just add this little messed up situation to his list, though the 'little' seemed incredibly inappropriate for it.

He tuned out the rest of John's session with Kate, and because of it, didn't know John was there until the tentative touch on his shoulder told him. He rolled, and saw Sheppard standing there, looking too fucking lost for Rodney's heart to take.

"My aim's not crap," he said wryly.

Rodney's lips curved despite himself. He pushed into a sitting position, and gestured at the spot next to his legs. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to throw journals unless you mean it?"

Ruefully, John sat down. "I thought I meant it."

"I'm sure she'd be touched to hear that." Rodney felt butterflies in his stomach. This was the first time, other than the apology, that John had sought him out, and the first time he'd touched anyone purposefully.

"If she keeps pushing me, she will."

If Rodney was suddenly picturing himself as Wile E. Coyote, hanging mid-air after running off a cliff, then, it was probably because he felt just like that. If he said the wrong thing, he'd fall. "She's pushing you because you're being difficult."

The insta-tense in John's muscles screamed 'Danger, Will Robinson, Danger', but Rodney ignored it. "Seriously, how long do you want to be the walking wounded, because it's not a good look for you."

Instead of ripping his head off, or stalking back to his bed, John asked tightly, "What is?"

"I swear to God, if you ever repeat this, I will deny it to the end of our days," Rodney warned, and he meant it. The one thing that would not do is for it to get around to his underlings that he had a sentimental side. He'd worked hard to eradicate any suspicion of that. "It's your smile…the one that reaches your eyes and, damn it, John, it undoes me every time. I want to see that smile again." He couldn't believe how strong his emotions rose up when he was admitting it, but John didn't pull back. Rodney pressed on, but quieter, and sadder. "If there was one thing I could kill Kolya for, it would be for taking that away from me. I know that John is still in there." Rodney reached forward, and time slowed, as John watched his hand slide onto his chest, over his heart. "He's here, and I want him back."

Neither one knew what to do next. Rodney felt John's heart beating underneath his fingers, and suddenly he was just so damn thankful that at least he still had that. Kolya might have thought by sending John back, broken and used, that he'd won. But Kolya hadn't realized that Sheppard had friends that wouldn't let him stay that way.

Finally, John drew away, and Rodney pretended he hadn't felt the small tremors under his hand. "I want him back to," hollowly, John retreated, and Rodney watched him the entire way. And then he closed his eyes, and prayed for this to be over.

OoO

Later, when Rodney and John had both found some kind of equilibrium to hold on to, they played HALO on the X-Box that had made its way to the city in one of the morale packages. Sheppard kicked his ass, and seemed to have a scary amount of satisfaction in blowing away anything that moved on the screen. Rodney tried not to take it personally.

They fell into an uneasy peace, and it felt good. Beckett came by to check on both of them, and told John he'd be free tomorrow, adding that Rodney would be joining him also, and his only condition was the two stick together. He disguised it under the premise that if either one had a relapse, they could get help, and if they wanted to be released on their own, it'd be at least another day or two.

Rodney knew he was ready to be away from the constant annoyances of being under medical care, and he wasn't surprised when John agreed. During the night, John's nightmares kept waking him up, and he wondered how on earth he was going to cope with that when they were alone. Here, the nurses often arrived and were able to soothe them away with a light sedative. It made his gut clench, and he hated that.

Like the nights before, he slept poorly.

The following morning was hectic. Nurses bossing him around to perform certain exercises, demonstrating that, yes, he could move around, bend, and be normal without bleeding, oozing or crying. A couple of times he'd rolled his eyes in disgust when they'd asked him to do something so stupid, like touch his toes. Really, it's not like he'd been able to do that BEFORE he'd been shot, so to expect him to do it after was ludicrous.

John was being put through a different set of paces. Medicine instructions, other private instructions about his wounds in hidden areas that made John blush when he caught Rodney watching.

And then they were free. It was almost anticlimactic. Rodney went to lift his bag of accumulated junk, but John was there, hefting it over his shoulder, side by side with John's equally laden bag. "Come on," he ordered. "I don't think I want to see this place again for a long time."

Together, they walked towards John's room. Rodney had wanted his, but John had given him this look, and it'd made him stuff his own wants down a very big hole, and agree. There pretty much wasn't anyone else around that could do it, but John did.

People were still staring, but not quite as much as before. Rodney thought about sticking his tongue out, and waggling his fingers in his ears, but the childish behavior would only give him a wet chin and earwax on his fingertips for his trouble. Still…

"Don't," warned John, as they arrived outside his door.

"Don't what," Rodney retorted innocently.

"Stick your tongue out and make the pretty faces for everyone." John pushed the panel on the wall, and the door slid open. "Nobody needs to see you reverting back to infancy."

"Then maybe they should quit staring," he complained. "It's getting annoying."

John snorted. "You're telling me?"

As they moved in, the door closed behind them. A cot for Rodney had been delivered and set up, and he dropped on it thankfully. "You know, if anyone has their suspicions, this isn't going to help dissuade them."

"I don't care."

Rodney narrowed his eyes as John dropped their bags, and fell tiredly on his own bed. "You should, it's your job at risk."

"One thing that I've learned over the past few days was how little that matters."

"Flying means everything to you, so knock it off." It bothered Rodney to hear John talk like that. He didn't even know why. Maybe because it was so…cavalier. Like John would turn his back too easily on his job, and by extension, him.

John rolled to his side, and propped himself up on an elbow so he could see McKay. "Not more than other things."

It sure seemed like Rodney was calling himself stupid a lot lately. He got what John meant with the suddenness of an arrow in the heart. He felt his face flame. There were those emotions again, coming to haunt his ass. "Ah," he said, jerking his head abruptly.

The conversation had treaded too close to things that were never talked about, and both of them retreated. John rolled to his back, and was soon snoring quietly. Rodney got up and took a shower. Taping a plastic bag over his wound sucked, and wasn't the list getting bigger every fucking day, but once it was done, he tried not to howl when he had to pull the surgical tape off. He changed the bandage, and was relieved to notice that it didn't look near as red anymore.

When he went back in the room, John was still out, so Rodney decided if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, applied, and he settled down to take a nap. The many nights of little sleep finally caught up, and he slept through till the following morning.

It surprised him when he saw the time and realized he'd slept for almost sixteen hours. He remembered vaguely waking up at least once and using the bathroom, but otherwise, it was a blur. John was playing on his PDA and gave him a half-smile. "Thought you died," he joked.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Rodney was supposed to be helping John, not the other way around.

"You needed it." The unspoken 'I needed it' was in there, too. Rodney imagined John had needed the space.

"Let's get some breakfast," John added, before he could reply. "I've got our day all planned." He flashed the PDA screen towards Rodney, but all McKay could do was squint at it blearily. John smiled, and this time, it was almost…almost…the kind that undid him. It made Rodney's heart beat fast, and his pulse quicken. "We're going flying."

OoO

By the time the hours had waned into late afternoon, Rodney was exhausted. John had dragged him about the city in an almost frenetic schedule. He knew that John was trying to fill the hours to compensate for what happened when his mind had time to focus on the memories. Rodney didn't fault him his logic, because it worked, for both of them.

They had breakfast, then took the Jumper to the mainland, and there John played kickball with the kids and regaled them with a story about Freddy vs. Jason, which was such a cheesy excuse for a film that he couldn't imagine it even being scary in the retelling, and apparently the kids thought the same, when one of them asked 'Wasn't the man in the hockey mask ever going to stay dead?'

Rodney had snorted into his chest, and tried to act like it wasn't him when John searched for who had done it. When John looked back, Rodney made a thumbs up sign to the kids.

After that, Rodney went to take a nap while John attended his session with Kate. When John got back, he looked green. "What's wrong?" Rodney asked.

In answer, John said one word. "Kolya." And then he rushed to the bathroom and threw up some more.

Fuck. Milestones suck.

John spent the rest of the day queasy and pale, but he told Rodney to keep asking him the name of the bastard that had done this to him, and every time Rodney did, John spat Kolya in response. He made a few more trips to the bathroom, but by the time Sheppard collapsed in bed for the night, he was able to say the name and not puke up bile.

The morning had started with a lot of promise, and the day ended in another scary place. Rodney wanted to call Carson, but John said that wasn't what he needed, and if Rodney wanted to run to Beckett every time John was having a hard time, he was welcome to get the hell out now.

Rodney stayed.

The next few days brought a lot of little improvements. John's smile came more often, and easier. People quit staring at them. Ronon and Teyla got back from the mission with Lorne, and as a team, they returned to the mainland for the entire day. They relaxed with the Athosians, and at night, sat around a bonfire and listened to the songs of Teyla's people.

As the firelight danced patterns against John's face, he leaned in towards Rodney and whispered, "Tonight, I want you to touch me again."

McKay swallowed against the lump those words created. It'd been so long…and just the thought made his blood soar hotly in his veins. Even with it though, a thrill of fear swirled, because he knew it wasn't going to be easy. "Are you sure?" he whispered underneath the singing.

John nodded resolutely, and stared at Halling, who had begun to sing a haunting melody, his rich baritone voice seeming to reach to the stars, and when the women joined in the background with a chanted backdrop, Rodney wondered just what he'd gotten himself in for. More than he'd ever bargained, that was for sure. Letting John into his heart hadn't ever been a conscious decision, but it'd happened anyway, and for better or worse, you can't undo things like that when they were already done.

Later that night, alone in John's quarters, Rodney stared uneasily at John. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"I don't think ready is the word I'd use," John admitted wryly.

Rodney had a flashback to John knocking him against the wall. "Maybe I should get Ronon, just in case. I'd hate for you to have my death on your hands." He'd meant it as a nervous joke, and he was plenty nervous, but when he saw John's face lose all traces of color, he could've kicked himself. "Stupidstupidstupid, tell the man who was raped in front of other soldiers that you want another guy looking on when you have sex," he berated himself. God, would his stupidity EVER stop lately? Ever since the beginning of this fiasco, he'd made one stupid misstep after another.

John ignored his ranting. "Did Doc say you were up for this?" he gestured at the bandage that he could see underneath Rodney's t-shirt.

Rodney figured ignoring was good. "He didn't say I wasn't up for it," he answered evasively.

"Rodney!"

McKay wasn't going to let John find an excuse to back out of this now. He'd spent the entire flight back building up the nerve to follow through with this, and he wasn't going to have that energy wasted. "I highly doubt he signed off on you, either, so shut up and strip."

"That's what I missed, the foreplay." But John did shuck his t-shirt. Rodney watched as John winced as he caught sight of his own bruises. McKay knew too well that reminders sucked.

When John had gotten under the covers again, Rodney slid in close, and they hovered there, both naked, awkward limbs intertwined, and stared at each other in the darkness. "Well, kiss me," said McKay, getting tired of waiting for John to start.

"Why would I want to kiss you?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. He should've figured John wouldn't make this any easier than pulling teeth. That was John in a nutshell. "Because you like to kiss me. You've told me so yourself," he pointed out reasonably.

"I knew that, I was just…"

"Stalling."

Rodney heard John sigh, and then suddenly his head was snatched firmly, and pulled in towards John, and then those lips were on his, and searching for the kiss, pushing and demanding, and though he hesitated at first, Rodney soon found himself melting into it, and losing himself. Not thinking, his hands began moving, touching, John's shoulder's, then his chest, and towards his hips.

When John pulled back, Rodney almost growled from the frustration. He had to force it away, and remember that this wasn't about him, it was about John, and helping him get through this. "We can't have sex if I don't touch you," McKay said patiently, surprising himself at how easy it came out, because inside he was screaming at John to fuck him, and take away all the bad shit they'd been through.

"I know that, too," John said, exasperated. "Just…slow down. Put your hand on my arm and leave it there for a few minutes before moving anywhere else, okay? Kolya…he was fast." There was a pause where Rodney knew John's mind was spinning, and then "I can't deal with fast right now."

Rodney was beginning to think this was a bad idea. He didn't know if he had the ability to help John the way he needed. "I don't think you can deal with this right now," he admitted, hating himself for saying it, but knowing he had to.

"Rodney, every time I let you touch me, it gets that much easier the next time."

The simple explanation forked into Rodney's body. He hated the thought that his touch caused John misery. Hated that he had to be the one to teach John to enjoy sex again. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was that he had to fight his own needs, and push them aside, and that was something Rodney wasn't very good at doing. He'd learned a lot about himself since he'd been here, and this was another test he knew he needed to pass. Rodney McKay had been learning to put others before him, and now one of the hardest moments was to be here, for John. The entire ordeal had left him raw in ways he'd never dreamed of.

Knowing what he had to do, Rodney moved his hand, and slowly placed it on John's hip. "We'll take it slow," he whispered. And Rodney knew he could do it, because at the end of the road, his John Sheppard waited.

**The End.**


End file.
